


Your Eyes Make Me Shy

by Agent25



Series: One Love for the Heart [4]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 03:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent25/pseuds/Agent25
Summary: Bucky bit his lip as he pondered her question. “It’s like every time I go near him, he…”“Yes?” Shuri pressed, still only paying half attention as she tinkered.“He freezes.”Shuri immediately went still, hands rooted over her invention. With a whirl of movements she turned to Bucky with wide eyes before demanding,“Say that again.”Now Bucky was confused and slightly nervous as he once again repeated, “He…freezes?”





	Your Eyes Make Me Shy

Safe to say, Bucky loved practically everything about Wakanda.

He loved the sights and sounds. In the time he had spent in the African nation he had seen things beyond even the craziest dreams he had conjured up as a boy in 1930s Brooklyn. Wakanda was an oasis of technological advancements all stemming from the power of vibranium. During the War, he had thought all the mineral was good for was painting an even bigger target on Steve’s back with that damned frisbee, he could have never have guessed all its uses from clothing to healing properties.

He loved the food, how plentiful and colorful the fruits and vegetables were, how every bite promised something new – pleasant heat, tangy sweetness, and refreshing coolness. There were spices of every conceivable variety that made every meal an adventure as he ate his way through the country’s many delicacies.

He loved its people, how proud and beautiful and fierce they were. He saw how their traditions and customs were steeped into the very being of every Wakandan citizen. It still filled him with awe how he had been welcomed into this heaven on earth. Here no one recoiled at the sight of him with scorn or fear, but rather called him _brother_ and _friend_ as they beckoned him to their side, whispering legends and fables in lyrical voices.

He loved the friends he had made, such as Wakanda’s own princess, Shuri. For only sixteen, she had the moxie and fortitude of people three times her age. She was as intelligent as she was clever, always a witty quip up her sleeve, quoting pop culture a mile a minute, leaving Bucky dazed and confused in her twirling wake. He’d never admit it aloud, but she reminded him of his three sisters – cute, tough as nails, genuine – and he knew the swell in his chest he got whenever he was around her was dormant brotherly feelings come back to life.

Yes, he loved many things of his surrogate home, but the only thing he couldn’t quite decipher about Wakanda was its king, T’Challa.

Their relationship was an odd one, to say the least.

T’Challa had gone from his greatest threat to his most staunch protector in one fell swoop. But still, Bucky hardly knew a thing about the king who had given him asylum, peace of mind and a place to call home for the first time in more than 70 years.

After several peaceful months of tranquil living among the River Tribe, Shuri had recalled him to Birnin Zana to complete the next phases of his rehabilitation, including the addition of his new vibranium arm. He now called the Royal Palace home, knew every marbled hall and sunlight room like the back of his hand.

But still, T’Challa remained a mystery to the former Winter Soldier.

Their paths rarely crossed, which Bucky could understand, T’Challa was a king after all and would spend the majority of his day tending to his country’s needs. Bucky would never begrudge the king his duties and responsibilities, but still…it’d be nice to see the guy once and a while.

And on the rare occasion when they did come into contact, T’Challa always seemed a bit… _off._ He was always polite and cordial but also tense and maybe even a little… _pained?_ Like Bucky had taken him by surprise and he didn’t know how to find his equilibrium. So when the two did meet, their interactions never went far before T’Challa was excusing himself, claiming that his attention was required elsewhere.

And well…Bucky didn’t quite know how to feel about that. He had faint memories of his past life in Brooklyn, he remembered being a social and tactile kind of guy. He was always dragging Steve to dance halls, bars, and jaunts into the city, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulder with a dashing grin and waggle of his eyebrows. He remembered his time with the Commandos, a brotherhood born out of war, horror and the dumb shit Steve put them through. He remembered boisterous wrestling matches against Dum Dum, smoking cigarettes with Morita – pressed shoulder to shoulder – as they made fun of Monty and his posh attitude, even when they were covered in mud and cow shit.

So yeah, once upon a time Bucky had been a pretty popular guy who had a lot of friends. He wasn’t that guy anymore, but he didn’t think he was a complete downer to be around. Shuri and others seemed to revel in his company and dry commentary of the daily comings and goings.

So why didn’t T’Challa like him?

It really shouldn’t bother him as much as it did. But, for whatever reason, he wanted the king to like him. Having T’Challa’s approval…it meant _something_ to Bucky. Maybe it proved that after decades of death and destruction he was still capable of good things, such as causing laughter and joy. Maybe it was because T’Challa was so strong, so just, so _pure_ in a way that Bucky could never be.

Maybe, just maybe, it was because Bucky’s heart did a funny thing every time he caught a glimpse of the man. It would flutter in his ribcage, sending Bucky’s emotions haywire. It was crazy as it was euphoric.

So, yeah, he wanted T’Challa to like him.

But the question was, how?

 

+++

 

The answer was obvious: Shuri.

So, with a determined gait, he borrowed one of the Palace’s nifty flying ships that resembled a dragonfly and directed it to Shuri’s fortress of a lab atop Mount Bashenga, where the country's main hub of vibranium was located.

As he made his way down the spiraling ramp, he nodded politely to passing members of the Wakanda Design Group, murmuring _molo_ as they walked by, reciprocating in kind. He soon enough landed in Shuri’s lab, booming music blasting throughout the space, causing his ears to ring slightly. How could she listen to it so loudly? Maybe it was just his enhanced senses.

He found Shuri with her back to him as she tinkered with her panther arm blasters, her braided head bobbing up and down as she sang along under her breath, freestyling with ease. Bucky, without thinking, sidled up to her and announced without preamble,

“I think your brother hates me.”

With a surprised squawk, Shuri nearly jumped a foot in the air. Bucky bit his lip to halt his laughter as she whirled towards him with a mean scowl, hand over her heart as she breathed in heavily.

“By the Panther!” she muttered and with a wave of her hand she cut off the music, leaving the two in resounding silence. With another half-hearted curse, she smacked Bucky on the arm as she complained. “We talked about this, Bucky! What did I say I would do if you snuck up on me one more time?”

Bucky was suddenly reminded of that very conversation as he grumbled defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Hmm?” she prodded, poking him in the chest. “What did I say?”

Bucky sighed despondently before getting out through clenched teeth, “That’d you put a bell on me.”

“Correct!” she crowed. “Tell me, Bucky, do you want a bell?”

Bucky couldn’t help but glower in return. “…no.”

“So what’s the rule then?” she asked, completely serious even though he could see the mirth dancing in her dark eyes.

Bucky stared up at the ceiling as he reluctantly gave in. “No more sneaking up on Shuri.”

“Exactly!” she sang, arms held out wide as she proclaimed, “No more sneaking up on Shuri. Honestly, the American school system must really be lacking if you can’t recall a simple lesson.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You do know the last time I was in school was in 1933, right?”

Shuri shrugged easily as she turned back to her blasters. “Semantics. So, what were you blabbering on about? Ah, yes! Why do you think T’Challa hates you?”

Bucky bit his lip as he pondered her question. “It’s like every time I go near him, he…”

“Yes?” Shuri pressed, still only paying half attention as she tinkered.

“He freezes.”

Shuri immediately went still, hands rooted over her invention. With a whirl of movement, she turned to Bucky with wide eyes before demanding,

“Say that again.”

Now Bucky was confused and slightly nervous as he once again repeated, “He…freezes?”

A moment passed, then another. Bucky was close to fidgeting and crawling out of his skin as the silence pressed in around them. It was finally broken…by Shuri’s howling laughter. Bucky stared in confusion as she laughed long and heard, tears nearly coming to her eyes.

“Oh, White Wolf,” she joyously exclaimed as she slapped Bucky’s shoulder. “This is the greatest thing I have ever heard!”

Shuri walked away, still giggling as she called out to her Dora Milaje. “Did you hear that, Ayo? He freezes!”

Ayo, keeping guard in the corner of the lab, only smirked as she nodded her head towards the princess, her eyes flashing with amusement as they passed over Bucky. The former assassin only frowned as he trailed after Shuri.

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?” he questioned intently. He was so very befuddled by the turn of events he now found himself in.

Shuri, still giggling lightly, only shook her head with a fond smile aimed towards Bucky. “Do not fret over my brother, Bucky. He is just… _shy_.”

Bucky was quick to raise an eyebrow, unconvinced by her reassurance. “Shy?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Shuri retorted with a click of her tongue as she gestured wildly. “He is shy!”

“Really?” Bucky countered sarcastically. “Because your brother tried to kill me several times without so much as a ‘Hi, how are you? Nice weather we’re having.’ So I have a hard time believing he’s shy.”

All Shuri could do was raise her shoulder in a half shrug as she weakly defended her position. “Well, when he’s not on a murderous rampage he’s rather…timid.”

“Uh huh.” What was Bucky, some kind of sucker? Shuri was clearly hiding something from him as she avoided his gaze and went back to her inventions.

Shy? Shy, Bucky’s ass.

Well, alright, if Shuri wasn’t going to help him, he’d do this himself.

How hard could it be?

 

+++

 

It was, in fact, very hard.

Bucky had tried everything and each time had come up disappointingly empty. He has heard through the palace grapevine that T’Challa was fond of tea and football from his time at Oxford for the umpteenth doctorate degree. Now Bucky was a coffee and baseball kind of guy, but for T’Challa, he was willing to try anything.

So he had brewed a nice steaming cup of tea and recorded the latest Arsenal vs. Manchester United game in the hopes of wooing the king into watching the match with him. He’d need someone to explain the rules to him, after all. That plan had not gone well. In his eagerness in brewing tea, he had boiled the water far beyond what was needed.

T’Challa had taken only a single sip before spitting it out, dropping the cup in his haste to save his taste buds. The cup – made of porcelain – had shattered into a hundred different pieces and T’Challa’s tongue had swollen to the point he couldn’t speak without turning all his R’s into W’s.

It hadn’t been much of a surprise that T’Challa hadn’t been up for football after that. Another time he had attempted a bonding session over sparring, because honestly, what could go wrong? They were both strong, fit men with a passion for hand to hand combat. It also didn’t hurt that Bucky could discreetly admire the lines and dips of T’Challa’s arms as they fought. His heart had been in overdrive as they went at each other.

It had gone well…for a while, at least.

A funny thing occurred less than ten minutes into their sparring. As Bucky wound up for a brutal yet effective roundhouse kick, his shirt had ridden up a bit, exposing his toned stomach. Somehow it caught T’Challa off guard and he froze right on sight and subsequently didn’t block the kick.

He had ended up with a mighty sore jaw and bruise blossoming across his temple. Before Bucky could even stutter out an apology, the king had been up on his feet, stalking out of the room with his Dora Milaje at his heels, the women sharing amused looks as they trailed after their king.

No matter how much Bucky tried, it was quite apparent that T’Challa wanted nothing to do with him. Bucky would never admit it aloud, but it hurt to know that the man couldn’t seem to find anything to feel for him other than disdain.

It was with such morose thoughts that Bucky found himself wandering aimlessly through the palace. He was just about to turn a corner when he halted, hearing a hushed conversation occurring around the corner. He slowly poked his head out and found Shuri and T’Challa with heads bent as they hissed at one another. Bucky assumed it was a typical sibling squabble and was moving to step back to allow them their privacy when his ears perked up at the sound of his name.

“Don’t think Bucky hasn’t noticed,” Shuri petulantly exclaimed as she glared at her older brother. “He knows you’re avoiding him.”

T’Challa’s answer was just as fierce. “Of course I am avoiding him. I cannot look at him. Every time I do it is just…too much.”

Bucky’s heart plummeted at the heat apparent in T’Challa’s words. So it was true, T’Challa didn’t want to be anywhere near the super-soldier.

“You’re acting as if this is his fault-"

“It is his fault!”

The conversation then continued on in rapid-fire Wakandan. Bucky was still a novice to the African language and could only understand one word for every five they were spitting out. Bucky’s soul felt heavy as he silently crept away, leaving the arguing siblings behind.

His feet carried him to the Royal Gardens where he slumped gracelessly onto the grass. He immediately wrapped his arms around his legs, pressing his face into them as he tried to calm his breathing, trying to keep his turbulent emotions at bay. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes but he stubbornly held them in.

He wasn’t going to cry. he wasn't. 

He didn’t even look up as one of the palace’s numerous panthers ambled up to him, stretching out over his feet as it soaked up the afternoon sun, purring all the while. Bucky remained still as a statue, sucking in gasping breaths.

T’Challa hated him.

Sure, he hadn’t said it aloud. But he admitted that he couldn’t even look at Bucky, that Bucky was at fault for something…

With sickening realization, it dawned on Bucky.

Vienna.

His father’s assassination.

Bucky went cold just thinking about it. Sure, Bucky hadn’t killed T’Chaka, but still, for several days T’Challa believed he had, had hunted him down, ready to tear him apart for the death of his beloved father.

He was so stupid…he had never seen that even though the real perpetrator, that son of a bitch Zemo, had been brought to justice, didn’t stop the fact that for a time T’Challa had believed him to be the killer. Here he had been this whole time, putting up with Bucky all but _forcing_ his presence on the king and all that time he had been reminded of the father he no longer had.

God, Bucky couldn’t even begin to imagine what T’Challa must feel every time he laid eyes on the super-soldier. How logically he knew it wasn’t Bucky’s fault, but when could one manipulate their emotions to be logical?

All Bucky did was serve as a reminder of everything T’Challa had lost.

Bucky wanted to be sick. Oh, God, how could he stay knowing he was putting T’Challa through hell? He raised his head, eyes raking over the loveliness that was Wakanda.

He loved it here, but he couldn’t stay when he was causing so much pain and suffering. So with a whimper, he activated his Kimoyo Beads and found the only phone number he had memorized. With a wave of his hand, it rang until somewhere across the world the call was accepted.

Bucky mournfully closed his eyes as he spoke.

“Hey, Stevie, I need to talk to you…”

 

+++

 

T’Challa sighed deeply as the meeting of the Taifa Ngao convened. He ignored the stern look his mother sent him as she and the other council members stood, leaving their king to ruminate alone (other than his Dora Milaje) in the throne room. He slumped back into his throne, his kingliness slipping away as he brought a hand up to massage his temples, he could already feel a headache forming.

He was not surprised by his council’s contempt, he had not been giving the meeting his full attention and he knew it must have shown with his distracted, one-worded answers to all inquiries.

He had been too caught up in his own internal musings.

And what were his thoughts centered around?

Bucky Barnes. Or James, as T’Challa referred to him.

If he was going to be honest with himself, he had been thinking of the man for far too long. The man had the ability to absolutely drive T’Challa senselessly insane with his very existence. All T’Challa had to do was catch sight of the man, hear the husky rumble of his voice, and then T’Challa was completely lost.

No longer a king, but a very human man. A man whose feelings for the super-soldier were threatening to overwhelm him at every turn. So, like a coward, and not the warrior he knew himself to be, he had taken to hiding from the man, keeping his distance, though distance was the last thing he desired.

It had finally come to a head earlier when Shuri (the meddler) finally cornered him, chewing him out with her quick tongue.

_“Don’t think Bucky hasn’t noticed. He knows you’re avoiding him.”_

_“Of course I am avoiding him. I cannot look at him. Every time I do it’s just…too much.”_

_“You’re acting as if this is his fault – “_

_“It is his fault!”_

_Shuri had scoffed before switching over to Wakandan **. “He thinks you don’t like him.”**_

**_“That is preposterous. Of course, I like him. I like him too much! That is the problem.”_ **

_Shuri rolled her eyes, **“Obviously. But he doesn’t know that.”**_

_T’Challa huffed out a breath, hanging his head as Shuri gazed at him sympathetically. She gently placed a hand on his arm and looked at him for a long moment._

**_“I think you should speak with him. Your avoidance is hurting him. He will never say, but I can tell.”_ **

Her words troubled him then and still troubled him now. Could it be true? Could James really think that T’Challa did not enjoy the time (rare as it was) that they spent together? T’Challa had been tickled pink when James had come to him, tea in hand with an invitation to watch a Premier League match, a guilty pleasure T’Challa hadn’t partaken in since he was a young boy. It was only the thought of so much time spent pressed together on the couch that had caused T’Challa to choke on his tea, completely upending his cup and burning his tongue in the process.

And T’Challa had thrilled at the prospect of sparring against James’ legendary prowess. They had fought before, but with mad bloodlust coursing through his veins, T’Challa had never had a chance to enjoy their previous encounters in Europe. It had been exhilarating going toe to toe as they were practically equal in strength and skill.

But then…as James wound up for a kick, his shirt had ridden up, exposing a strong stomach slick with sweat. It had been such a tantalizing sight that T’Challa had completely forgotten everything in the world other than those clenching muscles.

That mistake nearly cost him a broken jaw.

T’Challa wearily sighed. He had never wanted to hurt the man who had so clearly captured his attention.

How could he make it up to the super-soldier?

He was broken from his thoughts as his Kimoyo Bead beeped lightly. He raised his left hand and activated the communication device.

“My King,” Dembe – a member of his Dora Milaje, who was currently guarding the doors to the throne room – bowed her head respectfully in greeting as she appeared before him through the beads. “Sergeant Barnes is requesting an audience.”

T’Challa couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. It was as if James had sensed T’Challa’s urgency to right his previous wrongs and had magically appeared.

“Let him in.” T’Challa evenly ordered as Dembe disappeared. He lowered his wrist as the gilded doors opened and James paced in. He was attired in loose, Wakandan clothing, a rich, navy shawl draped over his shoulders. His long hair was up in an artfully braided bun, beads woven through his thick hair as several pieces had fallen out, framing his angular face.

He had the markings of Wakanda.

It did strange things to T’Challa’s heart to see James so at ease among his people. He had embraced their culture and had been embraced in return. It lightened T’Challa’s spirits to see James at peace in his home. He wanted only good things for James, things he would give unendingly and without question.

If only he could prove that to James…

T’Challa’s eyes narrowed as he saw the frown marring James’ handsome face, he seemed agitated as he came to halt in front of the throne, eyes roaming cagily throughout the vast space. It was with trepidation that T’Challa realized he was looking everyone except at the king.

“James,” he began, “I-"

“I’m leaving Wakanda.”

T’Challa’s mouth snapped shut as shocked silence echoed throughout the throne room. His words even had the Dora Milaje’s attention as they peered down at the super-soldier with furrowed eyebrows. They had known their king’s feelings long before he had. T’Challa couldn’t help but stare. James flushed, looking away as he bit his lip.

“Beg pardon?” It was a struggle to get the words out at all as T’Challa’s heart rammed itself against his rib cage. What was happening?

James stared down at the tiled floor as he once again repeated, “I’m leaving…I have to leave Wakanda. Preferably soon.”

All T’Challa could feel was panic as he tried to make sense of this. This was insane. Why on earth would James ever want to leave? Was this not his home? “But why? Do you not like it here?”

“No!” James’ eyes were wide as he shook his head, nearly undoing his delicate hairstyle. “I love it here.”

T’Challa narrowed his eyes as he continued working through the problem. “Has someone been unkind?” His hands clenched into fists at the thought of anyone speaking an ill word to such a kind soul as James.

“No, nothing like that,” James softly reassured a small grin appearing. “Shuri’s great, everyone’s great, really, this whole country’s great. This is the first time I’ve experienced a shred of genuine kindness in more than 70 years. Wakanda is...” his eyes clouded over as he breathed out, “Like some kind of paradise.”

It warmed T’Challa to hear James speak so fondly of his home. But then, why did he want to leave?

“I am afraid I do not understand,” T’Challa spoke. “If you love it here so much, why do you desire to leave?”

James huffed out a frustrated breath as he kicked uselessly at the floor with his sandals. “Look, we don’t have to beat around the bush here. I know when I’m not wanted, okay? I’m not looking for scraps or handouts or, God forbid, _pity_.” he spat out the word, hands curling into fists as he let out a deep breath before continuing with steely determination. “I’ve already gotten in contact with Steve, he says I’m more than welcome to join his ragtag team on their Secret Avengers crusade. They’re somewhere in South America. It could be fun.”

T’Challa’s eyes narrowed at the thought of James leaving only to once again enter the danger that was always present around his friend, Steve Rogers. He knew the former captain had desired his friend to return to his side when he had come out of cryostasis after Shuri had purged Hydra’s control over James’ mind. But both T’Challa and Shuri had been adamant that James remained within their borders and be given an opportunity for peace and rest. He had just finished fighting in one war, they would not let him step into another as Rogers and his allies attempted to right the wrongs of the world. A noble cause, to be sure, but one that did not require James, not now, at least. Rogers, for his part, had conceded gracefully and T’Challa was aware that the two were in communication, speaking several times a week.

T’Challa watched intently as James spoke, saw the half-hearted shrug and the downturn of his lips as he suggested rendezvousing with Rogers and his team. That was not the face of a man who voluntarily wanted to leave but rather felt that he had to.

“You still have not told me why you want to leave.”

He watched as James tensed, a scowl appearing as he glowered at the king. “Well, frankly, Your Highness, it’s because of you.”

Once again T’Challa could not help but stare at James in shock. “Me? What have I done?”

James rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, simply put, you seem to hate me.”

“H-Hate you?” T’Challa sputtered, “I absolutely do not.”

He was rewarded with another scowl as James muttered, “Right, okay.”

“I do not!” T’Challa exclaimed, frustration finally bleeding through as he rose to his feet, planting his hands on his hips.

“Really?” James volleyed back, unconvinced by T’Challa’s insistent tone. “Because you’ve hardly spoken to me since I’ve come out of cryostasis. You always leave a room nearly immediately after I enter. And honestly? You look like you’re having an aneurysm every time you see me.”

T’Challa flushed as he weakly defended his position. “That is…not true.”

James arched his eyebrow. “Really? Because you look like you’re having one right now.”

That was fair. T’Challa knew how he appeared, but that was only because James had the uncanny ability to completely turn him on his head and the fact that he now wanted to leave was doing nothing for T’Challa’s internal calm. He opened his mouth to argue but was cut off by James.

“Look, I get it. I wouldn’t want me around either.” The super-soldier gestured to himself with a self-deprecating grin that made T’Challa’s heart cry. “I’m beyond damaged goods. And obviously, with your father – “

“ _You_ did not murder my father.” T’Challa snapped, a single-minded ferocity ripping through him as he snarled. “That was the work of that madman, Zemo.” 

It sickened him that James, for even one moment, would compare himself to a monster such as Zemo. That man had no room for compassion or remorse. He was nothing like James, who was good and resilient even after decades of torture. James was a stronger man than even himself.

James held up his hands as he spoke gently, “I know that. But, trust me, I’m the authority of having a fucked up brain that you can’t always trust to distinguish between what’s real and what’s not. And that last thing I would ever want is to be a living, breathing reminder to you of that awful day.”

James sucked in a deep breath as he forced himself to meet T’Challa’s gaze unflinchingly. “I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. All of _this_ ,” he gestured around him but T’Challa knew what he truly meant – Wakanda and all its wonders and people – “Is beyond what I could ever dream. I will be grateful to you and your people every day for the rest of my life.”

James’ lip wobbled as he blinked rapidly, arms falling listlessly to his sides as he choked out, “But I can’t stay anymore. I hope you can understand.”

James bowed his head before pivoting on his heel, ready to walk out those doors and out of T’Challa’s life. His body was on fire with panic as he watched James go. All he could feel was _wrongwrongwrong_ surging through his body.

He had to stop this. He had to make him understand. He had to –

“I freeze.” His words were loud in the space as James halted, back still to T’Challa. He risked a glance over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Come again?”

But he was still there. He was no longer walking away, leaving T’Challa behind. Perhaps, if T’Challa was honest, as he should have been from the start, he could keep James here, with him. So, with a resolute breath, he stepped forward, explaining.

“When I am with you…I freeze. It is not because I hate you or that your presence disgusts me. It is the opposite, actually.”

A small smile worked itself across his face, “I find that whenever I am near you I have no desire to leave your side. I wish to speak to you about anything, _everything._ I want to know your past, how you take your coffee, what you sound like when you are laughing. I want to know it all. But, the infuriating thing is that the moment I see you…I just – “

“You freeze,” James finished for him, wonderment in his eyes as he gazed at T’Challa, mouth open and wide with shock.

T’Challa chuckled as he nodded. “Yes.”

He now stood directly in front of James, only a foot or so of space separating them as they looked at each other freely, reveling in how much the truth had already bonded them intrinsically towards one another.

“So…” James began hesitantly, a flush spreading across his cheeks. “You don’t hate me?”

T’Challa was quick to shake his head, his eyes warm as he responded, “No, I rather like you. More than I should.”

He reached out, enclosing James’ vibranium hand with both of his, feeling the coolness of the metal as he stroked his fingers over the appendage. He did not miss the catch of James’ breath as his eyes shuttered close at the caress.

“Stay,” T’Challa whispered, bringing the hand up to kiss. “Please.”

James’ eyes slowly blinked open as they locked gazes, a slow smile splitting across his face.

“I think I can do that,” he promised as the two stood together.

Suddenly, almost anything seemed possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the love you guys have been showing this series! It absolutely warms my heart! Please keep it up!
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Shuri when talking to Bucky:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41122085735/in/dateposted-public/)


End file.
